


Mr. Fit

by Blunette (Hoshikuzu_san)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, draco is awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:51:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8157925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoshikuzu_san/pseuds/Blunette
Summary: Draco's natural charm and beauty means he's never lacking in romantic company.This charm magically vanishes when in the presence of one Harry Potter.That doesn't mean Draco won't try to flirt with him, anyway.
Or, a story in which Draco is an awkward bloke, hopelessly and helplessly in love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone of you who reads this and goes, “What?”... My sentiments exactly.
> 
> I don’t know where this story came from. People who liked my previous fic, _Superfluous Words_ , suggested I do another type-an-entire-story-in-two-days sort of thing, and so I did. I had inspiration for some parts of this story, but mostly I just wanted to finish it?? I don’t know. All the fics I think are crap, you people seem enthralled with.
> 
> I’m not even fishing for compliments when I warn you; This story is a mess. The plot is hard to see, let alone understand, and the characters are all over the place. I tried to make it worth reading by adding some lame-ass smut to the end, but even then, this is utter rubbish and I won’t judge anyone for abandoning it halfway through.
> 
> However, I sacrificed doing too much homework to finish this trainwreck, so I’m damn well going to publish it.
> 
> Every author has that one shitty fanfic, right? *nervous laughter*

“I don't like the way Parkinson’s eyeing Harry,” Ron murmured, squinting at Potter’s office across from theirs.

Draco and Ron were Auror partners. After the initial months filled with tension and passive aggressiveness, they’d gotten drunk, got some shite off their chests, and decided they didn’t absolutely abhor each other. Then they became somewhat friends. Somewhat almost best friends, really.

Whenever Potter wasn’t around, anyway, because when he was, Draco magically lost the ability to form any coherent thoughts, let alone hold any stimulating conversation.

“I still don't trust Slytherin.” Ron smiled at Draco sheepishly. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Draco shrugged. “I agree, she'll eat him alive.”

Weasley abruptly brightened. “ _ You _ can get Parkinson away from him!”

Draco paled. “I was hoping to live for Christmas, thanks.”

His partner rolled his eyes. “You’re taking the piss. You’re friends! Surely she would back off if you asked-”

“And what ever shall I tell her?” Draco asked sardonically. “‘Hi, Pans! You look absolutely stunning today. By the way, would you mind keeping your corrupt little paws off Potter? My partner and I would prefer him to retain his soul, thanks. Have I mentioned how  _ stunning _ you look? Especially when you glare so passionately—Truly, I can barely  _ move _ , I’m so petrified-’”

“Or, you can stop acting so dramatically,” Weasley suggested, “and make a serious attempt. Just tell her you like her or something.”

“Sure, after nearly a decade of telling her she’s like a sister to me, I’ll suddenly become as incestuous as a single child with no remaining family can become and start making moves on her. Not to mention that she is, indeed, my friend, and as much as I disapprove of her lifestyle of stringing men along, I don’t actually want to hurt her. In that way, at least. Maybe we can just charm her eyes, so she thinks Potter looks hideous. Though, I’ll admit, that would take a strong charm.”

“Harry is pretty magic resistant,” Ron noted thoughtfully.

“And the fact that he’s fit,” Draco explained. “We’d have to disguise not only his face, but his body as well. He’s not overly tall, but he’s broad shoulders. And his voice. When he starts barking orders...” Draco shivered. “Sinful.”

Ron stared at him in horror. “I know you’re gay, Malfoy, but can you  _ not _ ? Harry’s my best mate.”

“Oh, so it’s fine for you to suggest I sex up my  _ sister- _ ”

“You’re not related!”

“-but the  _ second  _ I mention Potter in any way revealing my actual sexual nature, it’s weird? I’ll have you know, Weasley, that even if Potter’s as straight as you claim he is, _ I _ turn heads despite it  _ all _ , understand?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Sure, Malfoy, sure.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Don’t make me put on The Charm, Weasley.”

“Fine, fine,” Ron conceded, raising his hands as if in defeat. “Whatever you say, Malfoy.”

Draco snarled. “I don’t want to ruin whatever you have with Granger over some stupid spat, but I can and I will  _ make _ you question yourself if you don’t acknowledge my game-”

“You think you’ve got game? Fine!” Ron yelled, throwing his hands in the air. “Use it on Harry!”

Draco froze. “What?”

“Use it on Harry,” Weasley repeated, breathing hard from all the yelling.

“I-” Draco faltered. “We don't’ want to hurt him.”

“Then don’t hurt him.”

“But,” Draco was lost, “this is temporary?”

Ron stared at him, expression serious. “Is it? You like him, don’t you?”

Draco blanched. “I—No—A  _ little _ ,” he conceded, ducking his head in shame. “Is it obvious?”

Ron let out a sharp bark of laughter. “You turn into a blubbering mess whenever he’s in the room! He’s Mr. Fit, Mr. Broad Shoulders, Mr. Sinful Voice, remember?” Weasley teased.

Draco huffed crossly, flushed bright red with humiliation. “Well I’m  _ sorry _ , but I talk about it because I never thought I’d be permitted to  _ act  _ on it.”

“Well,” Weasley sighed, “you have my go-ahead. You'll have to act before Parkinson gets up the courage to move pass ogling him and actually talks to him, herself. If she's anything like you, though, we have time. Years, maybe.”

“How very kind of you to grant me my chance at happiness,” Draco deadpanned.

Ron shrugged. “It’s mostly because I’m sure you’ll fail, but it will suffice as a distraction for her until I come up with a better plan.”

Draco threw his ink bottle at Weasley’s head.

* * *

“I think it’s great,” Hermione cheered, delighted.

“The plan, or the fact that Weasley’s finally brunette?” Draco asked genuinely. 

Ron glowered at him from beneath his inky, black hair.

Hermione giggled, wrapping her arm around him and resting her head on his shoulder. “Ignore him, Ron. He’s just jealous he can’t pull off anything other than blond.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “The universe can only take so much beauty in one space. I’m limited for your sakes, really.”

Hermione rolled her eyes fondly, while Ron blew Draco a raspberry.

“But, to get back to what we were discussing earlier, I think you courting Harry would be a brilliant idea,” the witch clarified. “I could sort of sense a little tension between you two-”

“Ha!” Draco blurted, shoving his finger into a startled—If Ron’s shriek was anything to go by—Weasley’s face.

“-but I didn’t know whether it was me projecting my own opinions...” Hermione trailed off as, expectedly, Ron swooped forward to shove his own finger in Draco’s face. 

“HA!” He roared as he did so. Strangely enough, his index finger did not protrude and, instead, he came within inches of  _ punching  _ his partner.

Draco seethed at Ron’s oh-so-innocently confused face.

The facade fell when his girlfriend’s words really hit him. “Wait, what? Your own opinions?”

Hermione smiled sheepishly when she admitted, “I always sort of thought that, despite their history—No,  _ given  _ their history... they might complement each other.”

“ _ HA! _ ” Draco screamed,  _ launching  _ himself at Ron, fist raised, and then both were tumbling on the floor, punching and kneeing and yanking.

“ _ Honestly _ , you two!” Hermione hissed, exasperated. “Haven’t we aged past  _ children _ ?”

“I’m... defending Potter’s honor?” Draco tried.

“I’m defending...  _ your _ honor!” Ron assured.

Draco, with a roll of his eyes, cuffed his partner over the head. “We were arguing over  _ Potter _ , you pillock. You can’t just throw random people in there-”

“DON’T MOCK MY HONOR!” Ron screeched.

“DON’T CHALLENGE  _ MY _ HONOR!” Draco howled back, and then they were fighting. Again.

* * *

“I hate you, Malfoy.”

“What, do you think I meant for it to happen? I’m a gay man. You were on top of me. We were  _ wrestling _ .”

“I need to cleanse myself. Mind, body, and soul.”

“I didn’t bloody  _ taint _ you, you twit. It was just... a little  _ poke _ .”

“That was a lot more than ‘just a little poke’, you heathen.”

“Why, thank you, Weasley.”

“I fucking hate you, Malfoy.”

“If it makes it any better, I think the black hair was throwing me off.”

“ _It_ _doesn’t!_ ”

* * *

“So, erm, Potter,” Draco addressed, clearing his throat awkwardly. He glanced over Potter’s messy head at the reflection of the—once more—redhead who was shooting him a thumbs-up and exaggerated wink combination from behind him, in their office. Luckily for Draco, Potter’s Certificate of Authenticity was framed just above his desk, making it possible for him glare at his obnoxious partner without turning around.

“Erm, yes, Malfoy?” Potter replied, smiling a little as he copied the phrasing Draco himself had used. “Did Ron accidentally lock the office with your wand and keys still inside, again?”

Ron’s highly confused,  _ what-is-he-talking-about-that-never-happened _ face, which swiftly turned into a sly,  _ so-that-was-one-of-your-’clever’-excuses-to-talk-to-Harry _ face, was met with a carefully blank one from Draco.

“Not quite,” the blond replied awkwardly. “This is, say, a touch more personal.”

He was hoping to ask about Potter’s past relationships in a friend-to-friend capacity. That way, he could grow closer to Potter while also learning what Potter looked for in his romantic partners.

However, that didn’t go quite as planned when, instantly, all teasing was gone from Potter’s expression as he sat up straighter in his chair. “What’s wrong? Who died?”

Draco leaned back, startled. “I—Wha—Who? No one died! Why would you-”

“Well, since you came to me, I thought, since you would usually go straight to Ron, that it had to be bad.” Potter awkwardly stumbled over his words.

Draco, mortified and embarrassed, managed to get out a strangled, “Ah, no, it's personal, but not dangerous—it's, um, not even about me, really, so. Yes. Sorry?”

Potter frowned. “What's this about?” He was still dreadfully serious, and after such a wretched start to their first ‘personal’ (at least, one-on-one) conversation in what had to be years, Draco’s flight instincts were far preceding his fight ones. He glanced around the room hastily for a quick and painless retreat.

“You know what?” He laughed nervously. “I think Weasley’s calling me-”

“Hey, guys!” Ron greeted at the door, obviously having heard Draco’s fib.

Draco could have kissed his partner, so grateful was he-

“Just popping in to say that I’ll be using the floo with ‘Mione for a bit, so don't bother me, yeah? Thanks. I'll leave you two to whatever it was you were doing.”

And with that, he was gone, and the door to their office was blessedly shut, or Draco was sure, even  _ with  _ the unadulterated power of his glare diminished due to it being received by reflection instead of directly, Ron’s head would have burst into flames.

“Malfoy?” Potter prompted, clearly not deterred from the original line of conversation. The worst part was, he looked genuinely concerned, if not a bit annoyed by the delay for what he likely thought was ‘personally’ important information. 

Draco frantically—yet furtively—looked around Potter’s office for anything to kill himself with, instead. His eyes landed on the unoccupied desk across from Potter’s, or more specifically, the photo framed on it.

“W-where’s your partner!” Draco blurted, awkwardly loud and unfortunately right in Potter’s face.

Said Auror winced, one hand instinctively coming to cradle his ear before he seemed to think better of it and returned it to his desktop. Because Potter was just such a sensitive guy. He didn't want to make Draco feel any more uncomfortable, and fuck, Draco could just kiss his extremely confused face. 

“Um, I'm sorry, what? McGorgan? He's on leave for a few months to be with his wife and kid, remember?”

“Of  _ course _ ,” Draco agreed, slamming his fist into the palm of his other hand, as if just remembering. “ _ That's  _ what I wanted to know. Thanks so much, Potter! You’re honestly such a  _ pal _ , Pots, a real  _ swell _ guy, you know that? I'm honestly so lucky to be your  _ bro _ —and sweet Salazar, I'm still talking.”

Draco abruptly spun on his heel and fled the scene.

* * *

“Oh come on, Draco, it couldn't have been that bad,” Ron assured.

“I called him my pal,” Draco whimpered, head in his arms. “I called him a  _ real swell guy _ , Ron.”

“Well,” Weasley grimaced, “that was the worst of it, yeah?”

“I said we were ‘bros’.”

Ron grimaced further, physically flinching.

“I know!” Draco wailed. “What am I, an eleven year old?”

“Well,” Weasley coughed, “it couldn't have gotten worse-”

“An then I called him Pots.”

“Merlin, Draco, you didn't.”

“I did.”

“And you wanted to get  _ out  _ of the friend zone? Well, congrats. You may have fallen to the alien-acquaintance zone. You know, the one that's off the playing field and off the  _ planet entirely _ !”

“Don't  _ patronize  _ me, Weasley! You don't think I  _ know _ ? I've been replaying those torturous ten minutes over and over in my head ever since! Surely this is Hell. The gods took pity on my pathetic soul and skipped death. They just planted me right in Hell where I may remain for eternity; approximately the time it will take for me to lick my wounds and regain the strength to ever leave my home again-”

Ron couldn't help sniggering.

Draco glared at him from the folds of his arms, and his partner had enough self preservation instincts to swiftly stop.

“Look,” Ron sighed. “Harry’s a good guy, and as much as you deny it, he does consider you somewhat of a friend, even if it's just from your association with me. If you can get your act together and try again, I'm sure he'll hear you out without holding your last conversation against you. Just say you drank some odd tea or something.”

Draco sniffed, peeking up hopefully. “Yeah?”

Ron smiled softly. “Yeah. Maybe this was too big of a step for you. I mean, from zero-contact direct for months to a full on conversation? I guess I just figured, with this ‘charm’ you keep talking about, that you would have hit home by now.”

The hopeful glimmer fled from his gray eyes in a second, replaced by vexation. “You really are a charmer, aren't you, Weasley? Way to kick a man when he's down.”

“Hey, don't pin this on me!  _ You're  _ the one who keep going on about ‘the charm’-”

“It's The Charm—use proper capitalization, thanks ever so.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Because you can hear my capitalization-”

“You'd be wise to remember that it's all based on emphasis and inflection, Weasley.”

“Looks to me like you lacked both with Harry today-”

“Circe’s  _ tits _ , Weasley, I  _ know _ ! I don't know what happened, okay? Am I out of practice? Maybe, but my natural charm should be enough to have prevented-” Draco flapped his hand frustratedly, “- _ that _ ! Honestly, on anyone else, I'm sure I could have wooed them!”

“Maybe it's time to resort to love letters?” Ron suggested gently, smile syrupy. “You're a  _ real swell guy _ and all, Draco, but with writing, you have time to draft and edit and finalize your speech before you deliver it. Might be wise, yeah?”

Draco, ready to spit fire, did concede a few seconds to consider this. Then he shook his head vehemently.

“No! No, I know I can do it. I can talk to Potter, no problem! I just need practice at flirting, I guess.” 

Ron squinted into the distance. “Is that what that was? Flirting?”

Draco kicked out beneath his desk to jab his heel into Ron’s foot.

“Holy  _ fuck _ , that hurt-”

“I'll show you  _ flirting _ , Ronald Weasley. Mark my words.”

“Did you have to  _ heel  _ me?” Ron whined, tearing up.

Draco smirked. “The bruise will be a good enough mark for my liking. You’re welcome.”

“I hate you, Malfoy.”

* * *

“Oh, don't doubt him already, Ron, we just got here,” Hermione admonished.

“You didn't see him with Harry,” Ron said, wincing at the memory.

Draco scowled at him, just for good measure.

“But, just so we're clear,” Ron began, “are you trying to attract another bloke? I feel like, if you're training for Harry, you should, right?”

Draco glanced around the pub thoughtfully. “I suppose. It doesn't really matter to me.”

“Just remember, Malfoy. If you fail the first few times, don't get discouraged,” Ron assured.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I'm not nervous.”

“You don't seem nervous,” Hermione agreed, eyeing him. “From what Ron told me, I thought you would be worse for wear.”

Draco glared at his partner, who merely raised his red eyebrows as he sipped at his drink.

“I  _ was _ nervous before. I don't know. Maybe this familiar scene makes me more comfortable?”

Hermione looked pensive, but nodded. “Perhaps.”

Curious by her response, Draco opened his mouth to question her, but aborted that thought when he caught the eyes of someone across the room.

The guy looked surprised that Draco had noticed him, but he didn't look away, so Draco took a moment to give the other man a once-over. 

He was tall, and thin, and attractive. He had brown hair, short, and a brown beard which was nicely trimmed. His eyes were a light blue, and his teeth, when he smiled, were bright.

Draco smiled back, a quick one, before glancing away, back to his ‘friends’.

Ron immediately perked up. “Oh, d’you find anyone?” When he looked ready to sit up and scan the room, Draco narrowed his eyes.

“Don't you dare turn to look around the room, Weasley. Play it cool, won't you?”

“You found someone already?” Hermione sounded a little put off. “How? It's so dark in here, and we just sat down.”

“It's because I'm blond. I practically glow,” Draco teased, smirking at her. He glanced at the man again to see him looking back. Draco gave another quick smile.

The stranger tilted his head, and Draco, still smiling slightly, raised his eyebrows.

The stranger, smirking, kicked off his barstool and, shoving his hands in his pockets, began making his way towards the trio.

“Quick, act natural, he's coming,” Draco murmured to them, never breaking eye contact.

“What?” Hermione asked, sounding a tad indignant. “How? You haven't even done anything yet!”

Ron squinted at Draco. “Nah, ‘Mione. There was a series of smiles, head jerks, and eyebrow waggling. It's the silent language of the single man.”

Draco, breaking eye contact with his prey—as innocent as he often played it, he knew who the real predator was—, jabbed Ron in the side.

“Careful, Weasley. With the right mix of secrets and lies, I could have you single in a minute.”

“What?” Hermione asked.

“I don't know,” Ron frowned. “What secrets?”

Draco smirked at him. “I don't know, Ron,  _ what  _ secrets?”

Hermione sent Ron calculating eyes, and the redhead grew frantic.

“Honestly, ‘Mione, I don't know what he's talking about!”

“Of course you don't.” Draco winked, and Ron scowled at him.

Then a shadow fell over the table.

“Pardon me,” the man excused, “may I have this seat?”

“It's empty,” Ron said.

“Go ahead,” Hermione amended, kicking her boyfriend under the table—judging by the  _ thunk  _ sound, followed by his pinched expression.

The bloke pulled out the chair before sliding in. He rested his elbows on the table, mirroring Draco’s pose, and close enough for their elbows to brush.

Draco glanced at him from beneath his eyelashes. “Demitri,” he said, holding out a hand.

Luckily, neither Ron or Hermione said anything about the false name.

The stranger smiled at him, taking his hand. “Tom,” he said.

“What an  _ exotic _ name,” Draco teased, fluttering his eyelashes.

Tom laughed lightheartedly. “Isn't it? My mother clearly had a blast choosing names.”

“I suppose I wouldn't think you were real, otherwise.”

Tom tilted his head. “What?”

“Looking as you do, with a name like, say, Quintus,” Draco said, casually admiring his nails. “I might not believe you were real.”

Tom, whose eyebrows had raised in surprise, slowly relaxed them as a languid smile spread on his face. “Yeah?” he asked, softly, sensually, clearly forgetting about the other two at the table.

Draco turned the other way, feigning embarrassment, and Tom slid right up next to him, so close their arms, their shoulders, their sides, and their legs were pressed flush against each other.

“Yeah?” he repeated, leaning closer to Draco, murmuring in his ear as Draco coyly peeked at him from beneath his fringe.

Someone coughed.

Both of them looked up to see a red-faced Hermione and a slightly green-faced Ron.

“Ah,” Tom said, laughing as he slid to the side to give Draco, or as he thought,  _ Demitri _ , some more room. “I'll order you guys a round?” he offered, standing.

“Sure,” Ron said, and just like that, Tom was gone. And then, “Merlin, Malfoy. You had that guy around your  _ finger _ !”

“I have to say,” Hermione admitted, “you seemed very natural, if not a tad submissive.”

Draco made a face. “You noticed? He seemed so relaxed at first, but as soon as I took my attention off him, he got all controlling. Did you see how aggressive he was? I said he was alright to look at, and the bloke’s one step away from humping me.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me if I'm wrong, Malfoy, but I believe you were implying he was something out of a  _ wet dream _ , not simply ‘alright to look at.’”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Still. I didn't compliment his personality, or anything that actually  _ meant  _ anything. It was a purely physical assessment, and he deemed me ready to follow home, implying he's looking for a one-night-stand—couldn't say I expected much more—, but he also comes off as possessive, in my opinion? I don't know. I don't like the way he leaned over me when I turned away from him. That didn't come off aggressive to any of you? I felt a little violated, to be honest.”

“Draco,” Hermione began, voice already in lecture-mode, “you were giving him all the signals that you liked it. He wasn't intentionally making you uncomfortable.”

“I didn't even notice you didn't like it,” Ron agreed, clearly uncomfortable by the subject, though whether it was Draco and another guy being intimate, or someone making his partner uncomfortable that bothered Ron, Draco wasn't sure. Either way, he found it oddly endearing.

“We were flirting, definitely,” Draco agreed, “but I could have genuinely been shy. If you crowd someone shy into a corner like that, how do you think they'll respond? To confidently tell you to back off? Not bloody likely, is it? We've spoken for all of a minute, and already he was almost on top of me. Even if I was genuinely interested in the guy—and a  _ lot _ more promiscuous—, I wouldn't find that flattering, as much as aggressive. And the way he jerked back when he realized you were guys were watching just goes to show that he wasn't being playful, something that would only warrant some laughing off, but that he was alluding to something sexual, something not acceptable of showing in front of my friends who he barely knows. He's aggressive.”

Hermione blinked. “I didn't realize you were giving it so much thought.” She glanced at Ron for help, but he shrugged.

“I’m his partner. I'm kind of used to him always thinking seven steps ahead.”

Draco shrugged. “I don't like being bossed around or controlled much, anyway.”

Ron smirked. “Except when  _ Harry _ ’s barking orders.”

Draco blushed visibly and ducked his head as Hermione giggled, but when he noticed how long Tom had been gone, grew nervous.

“Let's get out of here, yeah? He'll be back soon, and I don't want to keep playing him.”

“You won't say bye?” Ron asked. “He seemed to like you, even if you don't like him.”

As they all stood up to leave, Draco raised an eyebrow at him.

Ron frowned, defensive. “What? It's just polite, right?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “We spoke for all of five minutes, and half of that was through, as you so eloquently put it, ‘eyebrow waggles’. I'm sure he won't be too heartbroken over my departure.”

They quickly left the table, gradually making their way towards the more populated parts of the pub. Even while keeping an eye out for Tom, if that was even his real name, Draco managed to flirt up a few more blokes and birds to successfully convince himself that, no, he hadn't lost his charm. 

He conveyed this to Ron and Hermione as they made their way out of the pub, and down the block to the nearest apparition point.

“I don't know,” Draco sighed. “With these people, it's easy to say what they want to hear, or to act the way that gets the best response. Maybe it's my past, or even the sodding Auror training, but it's easy to read them. But earlier today, with Potter...” Draco frowned. “I just blanked out. Maybe I really did drink something strange?”

The other two shrugged, and soon enough they were apparating to Hermione’s apartment.

There was Potter. In a t-shirt, sweatpants, and an apron, making himself some late dinner, Draco supposed with what little brain activity remained at the sight of Potter being so domestic and natural outside if his Auror robes.

“Sorry, ‘Mione,” Potter said without turning around. “It's two hops to get to mine, so I thought I'd borrow your kitchen for five minutes to make myself a snack.”

“No problem, Harry,” Hermione said, walking over and giving him a brief hug before returning to the entryway to hang up her coat and purse.

“Sure thing, Harry,” Ron replied as well, but he walked over and, snagging the spatula right from a startled Potter’s hand, stole some fried egg before running off to hang up his things as well.

Draco, not daring to be noticed, quietly, quietly turned and began creeping his around the living room coffee table and towards the entryway. His flat was close enough to walk to, if he could just get to the hall without stepping in any creaky floorboards-

“Malfoy?” Potter asked, sounding surprised.

Flight instinct once again kicking in, Draco stopped, dropped to the floor like he was being shot at, and rolled right out of the room. Once he was out of sight and into the hallway, ignoring Potter’s confused inquiries after him, Draco leapt up and sprinted towards the door, where Hermione and Ron were still meandering as they hung up their clothing and hugged and kissed.

Draco paid them no mind as he flew at them, ignoring the laws of biology and physics as he attempted to squeeze between their hug, possibly ripping their arms out of their sockets in the process.

“Holy shit, Malfoy, what's the problem?” Ron asked, exasperated and horrified as he cradled his aching arms. 

Hermione did the same, though her irritation was cut off by confusion as Draco ducked behind her frame, peeking around her bushy hair and down the hall, as if hiding from something. 

Or someone, as they soon found out when Draco admitted, mortified, “I, um, sort of tried to sneak out of living room without being seen, but then he spotted me anyway—sodding Auror training—-, and I panicked and ran from the room.”

“Oh, you mean instead of talking to him like a normal human being?” Ron asked sarcastically. “What happened to all that stuff at the pub?”

“Harry’s the only one,” Hermione declared, nodding as though her theory had just been proven. “I think it's cute, actually, that Harry makes him so flustered.”

“Yeah, just  _ terrified _ ,” Draco replied, annoyance rising with himself.

“You were fine with him before,” Ron said, frowning. “Can't you just act the same? Instead of running away from him, at least?”

“Actually,” a familiar voice dryly cut in as the person attached entered the hallway, “he dropped to the floor and  _ rolled  _ away from me, but thanks for talking about me while I'm not in the room to hear what Malfoy’s problem with me is, guys. Really appreciate that.”

“Wait,” Hermione said, eyes wide with disbelief, “you  _ dropped _ , to the  _ floor _ , and-”

Ron sniggered. “You  _ rolled _ ?”

“Yes, yes, laugh it up,” Potter said, sounding  _ pissed _ . “I'm just always at the butt end of your jokes now, right? Used to be Malfoy, but now you too, Ron?” His smile was vicious.

Ron managed to calm his laughing to shaking breaths as he assured, “No, Harry, it’s not what you think.”

“It really isn't, Harry,” Hermione agreed.

“Well, what is it then?” Harry asked impatiently, arms akimbo. “Because I sure would love to know that we've moved passed Hogwarts, Malfoy. I thought that, you know, we were friends. Pals, as you called it?” Potter narrowed his eyes.

Draco looked from the three of them helplessly. 

Hermione threw up her hands exasperatedly. “Honestly, Draco!”

Draco paled further. “You can’t possibly mean  _ now _ ? He’s  _ already  _ angry!”

Potter frowned. “What?”

“Golden opportunity, Malfoy,” Ron prompted, sending the blond a significant look.

“If things go pear shaped, you still have us,” Hermione assured, planting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Draco leaned into her for support, but the merciless witch took this as a chance to use his momentum to reel him closer and then shove him down the hall, away from them and closer to Potter.

“Oh, Merlin,” Draco whimpered, looking like a doe caught in muggle headlights.

“Just do it, Malfoy,” Ron insisted.

“We’re here,” Hermione added.

“I’m actually going to piss myself,” Draco blurted, attempting to retreat—without taking his eyes off Potter, of course—, only to be stopped by Hermione, who shoved him forward once more.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on, since Malfoy obviously isn’t?” Potter asked, looking far less defensive, but just as irritated.

Something in Draco flared.

The blond narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

Potter raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, did that offend you?”

“Oh, like you weren’t going for offensive,” Draco drawled.

“It would only offend you if it were true.” Potter smirked.

“Are you honestly trying to goad me into this?” Draco hissed.

“If that’s the only way to get you to bloody address the hippogriff in the room, yes!”

“I’ll address it later!”

“Oh, like I’ll believe that!”

“Friday, then!”

“Fine!”

“ _ Fine _ !”

* * *

Potter entered his office, only to freeze uneasily when he noticed a familiar blond lounging on his partner’s desk.

And then he noticed something else lounging on his own desk.

“Um, what is this?” Potter asked, gesturing to the coffee cup conspicuously balanced atop the precariously balancing files on his desk.

“It’s coffee,” Draco answered disinterestedly, flipping through some magazine Potter had laying around his office. 

He hoped Potter couldn’t see how violently his hands shook behind the photo frames on the desk.

“You drink it like your life-fuel, yes? Surely you should recognize it.”

“I know what bloody coffee is, Malfoy, but who put this here?”

“I did.”

Potter stared at him, jaw working for a moment. “You brought me coffee? From who?”

“From me. I bought it for you.”

Potter frowned. “Why?”

“As an apology, per se, for acting so strangely this week.”

Potter sighed. “You don’t need to apologize, Malfoy. Everybody has off days- er, weeks. Does this mean you’ll tell me what-”

“Friday,” Draco reminded tersely.

Potter frowned, but let it go. And then he eyed the beverage suspiciously.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I didn't  _ poison  _ it, you pillock, it's a  _ gift _ . A, ‘thank you, Draco, you're the best Slytherin friend I've ever had,’ would suffice.”

Potter raised an eyebrow. “So we’re friends now?”

Draco raised his nose. “Don’t ask the obvious, Potter.”

Potter scoffed, but did take the cup in his hand. “Thank you, Draco, you're the best Slytherin friend I've ever had,” he parroted. “But my opinion may be biased, considering you're the  _ only  _ Slytherin friend I've ever had.”

Draco smirked. “Exactly.”

Potter shook his head, but he was smiling. And then it fell. “Oh. This isn't my usual?”

“Ron and I couldn't remember how you usually take it, so I made an educated guess.”

“I'm picky with my coffee,” Potter said, and had the decency to look sheepish after complaining about a bloody  _ gift _ .

“Only because your tastes are still so immature,” Draco said reasonably, and Potter glared at him. “It's true. Taste it and find out.”

“I don't think-”

“I know I'm me and all,” Draco began, “but my feelings will still be very much hurt if you don't even  _ try  _ my celebratory offering. Just  _ sip  _ it, you ninny.”

With a face, Potter did, and it only made Draco preen more when the expression melted into one of awe.

“It's good,” Potter said, impressed.

“You like things sweet, but piquant,” Draco said. “Like treacle tart, or key lime pie. The barista was kind enough to let me sample a few coffees which sounded as though they may suit your preference. Of course, he did seem terribly amused by my facial expressions after each sample.” Draco made a face. “Coffee is really not my cup of tea.”

Then Potter laughed, and Draco smiled back weakly, feeling his little gift had been a success.

* * *

“Well,” Hermione said, looking impressed. “You’re definitely calmer now than you were—even a few days ago.”

Draco shrugged as he collapsed onto her couch. “I guess. I was just so scared before. Not about the gay thing, just—I don’t know. Despite what I told Ron, I’m relatively sure Potter’s at least bi-curious, if nothing else. I guess I was just worried I was going to ruin the slight friendship we already have.” He smiled dryly. “But, of course, by acting like a complete lunatic, I was threatening that anyway.”

Hermione regarded him calmly. “What changed?”

Draco admired their ceiling as he admitted, “The fighting. It felt like when we were back in school, you know? Part of me knows this is better, that at least we’re friends now, but the other, more selfish part of me wants to go back. Even if we were fighting, back in school, it wasn’t hard to get his attention. I felt like I was a routine—if not important—part of his life.”

The witch nodded, sipping at her tea.

And then, “Are you still going to ask him out on Friday?”

Draco, still watching the ceiling, shook his head. “No. I’m clearly not ready. If Pansy wants him, and he eventually wants her... Well, at least  _ she _ can hold a conversation with him. I don’t know. When I tell myself Potter and I are just friends, I feel... ecstatic. But when I think about dating, or asking him out...” Draco pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he mumbled, “My heart lodges in my throat. If that makes sense? I can feel it pulsing, in my head, in my ears. I can’t think, I can’t speak—I feel so bloody useless.”

“Helpless,” Hermione corrected. “You feel helpless. Because you can’t help loving him, can you.”

Draco buried his face in his arms.

“I’m already shoulder-deep in feelings for him,” the boy whispered, “and he just learned today that we’re friends. Because I bought him coffee. And that was nearly the end of me, ‘Mione. I almost didn’t do it. But I did. I gave him his sodding  _ coffee _ , and nearly died trying. How can I expect to confess my... my _ feelings _ ,” he said the word with disgust, “when I can’t even casually give him a bloody coffee?”

“You thought you couldn’t, but you persevered, Draco,” Hermione insisted. “You can do the same this Friday-”

Draco shook his head again, still curled in on himself. “As acquaintances, he barely noticed me. As potential lovers, I freak out, and he notices me for all the wrong reasons. A friends... real friends... Maybe I can act normally. Maybe we can grow closer... and that will suffice.”

Draco jerked up when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and found himself staring into large brown eyes.

“Draco,” she said, voice moist with sorrow. “You’re in  _ love  _ with him,” she whispered. “Your heart, your mind, your soul... You need him. How could friendship ever suffice, knowing he doesn’t need you the same way?”

Draco leaned back, watching the ceiling once more.

But it didn’t work this time,

because the tears overflowed

and poured down his face.

* * *

“Come on, Draco.” Ron sighed. “Lighten up.”

Draco, face planted on his desk, merely groaned.

“Tell me a joke,” Ron tried.

Draco grumbled to himself, but eventually said, “Knock, knock.”

Ron, delighted by his partner’s cooperation, eagerly asked, “Who’s there?”

“To.”

“To, who?”

“To whom,” Draco corrected tiredly.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Of course your jokes would be just as persnickety as you are.”

This made Draco smile. “In that case, I’ve another.”

Ron settled back in his desk. “Merlin, what is it this time.”

“A mathematician returns home, to his wife, at 3 a.m. ‘You’re late!’ she yells. ‘You said you’d be home by 11:45!’ He replies, ‘Actually, I said I’d be home by a quarter of 12.’”

Ron stared at him, uncomprehending.

Draco stared back.

“What?” the redhead asked.

Draco cackled.

* * *

“Come on, Potter!” Draco called impatiently. “I’m freezing my tits off out here,” he grumbled.

“Now, now. Don’t be vulgar, darling,” Pansy admonished.

Draco made a face at her, but it was fond.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Hermione asked, approaching with her boyfriend in tow. They were both bundled tightly in jackets, and in the dim light, the falling snow looked like stars in Hermione’s hair.

Draco shrugged. “After a week of stressing, I’m over it.” He wasn’t. “And with Pansy here, I honestly feel better about it.” He smiled winningly at his friend, who swatted at him playfully.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she huffed, “but I’m glad. You’ve been glum the past few days. You were obviously going through withdrawal from my company.”

Draco ah’d softly. “That must have been it,” he agreed.

Ron watched the exchange with tight lips, but blessedly said nothing.

“Oh, Harry!” Pansy greeted when the Gryffindor finally made an appearance, smiling sheepishly as he locked his door and made his way down the steps towards them. 

“Sorry, guys. I took a nap after getting off work and lost track of time, I guess.”

Pansy huffed. “Must have. We’ve been waiting nearly a century!”

Draco rolled his eyes. “More like five minutes.”

Pansy sniffed at him. “Oh? And do you consider ten galleons five knuts as well?”

Draco smirked. “Maybe.”

Pansy blinked at him. “Can I have five knuts?”

“Wait five minutes,” Draco replied, and Hermione sniggered.

Potter just shook his head, but he was smiling. He nodded to Pansy when she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“Parkinson. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Pansy frowned. “Oh? Draco invited me.”

Draco smiled awkwardly when the other four turned to look at him. “The more the merrier, yeah?”

After apparating to the pub, it was clear why Draco had said such a thing.

“Oh, would you look at the time,” the blond said, dramatically brandishing his watch. “I know tomorrow’s Saturday and all, but I really do have an early appointment-”

“Oh, hey,” Potter interrupted. “Didn’t you have something to tell me today? Before you leave?”

Draco looked at him in confusion. “Oh? I don’t recal.”

“Malfoy,” Ron murmured.

Potter frowned. “You said-”

“Oh, but you know, I think Pansy had something she wanted to discuss with you,” the blond blurted, nerves already kickstarting.

When Potter turned to said witch, Draco saw his opportunity to escape and did, slipping through the crowd with the precision of one who was used to running for his life.

He made it outside the pub before someone grabbed his arm and spun him around.

“Holy fuck-”

“Malfoy,” Potter growled, hot, sharp breaths leaving clouds in the cold night air.

In a moment of insanity, Draco noticed he wasn’t wearing his jacket, either, and considered offering Potter his own.

“Why are you avoiding me?” he hissed, voice deep and dangerous, and Draco shivered from more than just the cold. “I thought we’d moved passed this-”

“We did!” Draco insisted, nodding his head vigorously as he tried to pry Potter’s hand off his arm. “I’m passed it!”

“Then why-”

“The thing I was going to tell you today?” Draco asked, and Potter nodded, jaw set. “It doesn’t apply anymore, so I just want to let it go, yeah? Why linger on the topic?”

Potter scowled. “I was never  _ on  _ the topic in the first place, because you won’t fucking  _ tell  _ me-”

“Because it doesn’t matter!”

“Then just tell me!”

“I’m over it!”

“Tell m-”

“I’m over _ you _ !” Draco yelled, ready to throttle Potter by his annoying, thick, gorgeous neck.

“You—What?” Potter took a step back.

“I’m over it!” Draco shouted again, insisting this time, pleading. “I was kind of caught on you, but I’m over it, so can we just leave it? I’ll stop being so crazy, and you can have Pansy-”

“I—wait,  _ what _ ? You like me?”

“I  _ don’t _ ,” Draco stressed. “I did, but I’m over it, okay? Go back to Pans-”

“Why do you keep—I don’t want to bloody talk to Parkinson, I want to talk about  _ this _ .”

Draco threw his hands in the air. “There’s nothing to talk about!”

“So I don’t get any say in it?” Potter sneered.

“You’re too late, Pots,” Draco snarled right back. “It’s  _ over and done with, so let it rest _ .”

Potter stepped up to him, too close and too quick, and Draco stumbled back, startled. Potter, advancing like a predator, quickly crowded him against the nearby brick wall.

The moonlight was dim. Draco, having another insane thought, considered how long it would take someone to notice his freezing body if Potter decided to be done with  _ him _ .

“I don’t want to let it rest.”

Draco glared at him defiantly. “You don’t have a  _ choice  _ in the matter,” he spat.

“You say it’s over and done with,” Potter murmured, fluttering his fingers over Draco’s arms, “but I don’t think that’s true.”

Draco stiffened when Potter leaned further into him, panting against his ear.

“I think I can still convince you to reconsider,” he whispered.

Draco shivered—violently, this time.

“Oh, shit,” Potter cursed, taking a step back as he wrapped his arms around himself. “Sorry, was I freaking you out? It’s bloody cold out here, and you’re surprisingly warm-”

Draco blinked stupidly for a couple seconds. “You... excuse me?”

Potter, teeth beginning to chatter, still tried a shaky smile. “Th-this whole t-time, I thought you were g-going to tell me how much you h- _ hated  _ me! Which would have been wretched, really, c-c-considering how partial I am to you.”

Draco flushed. “Is that so?”

Potter nodded jerkily. “Indeed. B-but I’m not g-going to f-force you into a-an-nything, of c-c-course-”

“For Salazar’s sake,” Draco muttered as he cast a warming charm at the idiot.

Instantly, Potter sighed, relaxing into the momentary warmth before it vanished and the cold set in again.

“Anyway, just—Sorry for crowding you there. I was cold. I wouldn’t normally be so... so-”

“Aggressive?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

But Draco had, admittedly, liked it.

The blond shook his head, but he was smiling.

“I should really grab my jacket,” Potter announced.

“Probably,” Draco agreed.

“And my wand.”

“That would be wise.”

“And then I’ll... Meet you back out here?”

Draco, awkwardly scuffing his foot on the ground, nodded shyly.

Potter grinned at him. “I tend to lose all common sense when it comes to you, don’t I?”

Draco’s breath caught, and it wasn’t until Potter scurried back into the pub that he managed a startled, “So do I.”

* * *

“Nice place,” Potter complemented, and it seemed genuine.

Draco took his coat silently and hung it by his own before leading his—Guest? Friend? More?—into his living room.

And after watching Draco flounder and nearly spill his tea five times, Potter took pity.

“So,” he started, and Draco stiffened so abruptly that, this time, he did spill some of his tea. Potter, obscurely enough, found the utter mortification on Draco’s face amusing. “Is this why you’ve been so weird around me, lately? You found out you liked me?”

“Well, no,” Draco murmured into his cup, not daring to make eye contact. “I’ve liked you for a while. It wasn’t until recently that Ron gave me  _ permission  _ to like you that I, erm, became ‘weird’.”

Potter frowned. “I don’t understand why you haven’t reacted this way towards me until recently, if you’ve liked me—and known about it—for a while.”

“I wasn’t going to  _ act  _ on it,” Draco said quickly, eyes wide with horror. “I would never do  _ that _ —I’m not suicidal, Potter.”

Potter opened his mouth to respond to  _ that _ , but Draco effectively cut him off.

“But Ron doesn’t like the thought of you and Pansy, and neither do I. I mean, I love Pans, but she is’t in it for a relationship as much as a toy until she grows bored. Weasley suggested I insure that doesn’t happen by approaching you myself, but whenever I take the pseudo-friend veil off of you and acknowledge to myself that I  _ like  _ this person, and what this person thinks of me and how they react to me will actually  _ matter  _ to me, I get... jumpy.”

“‘Pseudo-friend’?” Potter asked.

Draco waveed his hand flippantly. “I liked you long before we became ‘friends’, so it was always a ruse for me. I thought of you as  _ Potter _ , first and foremost, and as  _ just  _ Potter, second.”

Potter frowned. “So why does this pseudo-whatever veil make you uncomfortable around me? Rather, more comfortable?”

“Oh! No, no, no, I’m not  _ discomfited  _ by you—I’m botching this up, aren’t I? I just mean—When I think of you like someone would think of someone important to them, I... My heart-”

Draco cut himself off, screwing his mouth shut, unsure how Potter would react to the same speech he'd given Hermione.

But when Potter prompted him, it was with a gentle voice. “Your heart?” he inquired.

“My heart... lodges in my throat. I can feel it—in my head, in my ears. I can’t think, I can’t speak—I feel... helpless, around you. I can’t focus on anything else—any _ one _ else. I-” Draco ran a shaky hand through his hair, then gave up all pretense of calmness and all out buried his face in his hands. “I’m a mess, honestly.”

There was silence.

After a few seconds of this, Draco peeked through his fingers to see Potter staring at him with wide eyes and bright red cheeks.

“Potter?”

“You-” Potter began, paused, reddened further, then murmured, “You more than just ‘like’ me, don’t you...?”

Draco, in response, instantly exploded in red as well, embarrassed and mortified because of it.

“You could say that,” he replied weakly.

“That’s-” Potter cleared his throat awkwardly. “That’s good.”

Draco cringed. “Is it?”

“Yeah,” Potter said. He nodded once to himself, then again, more firmly. “Yeah, it is. Now I know you’re taking this seriously—I mean, I’m not in love with you—Not yet, anyway. Y-you know? But I—I’m willing to give this a shot, if you are.”

It was awkward, and he stumbled over his words and pushed up his glasses repetitively, but it still made Draco’s lungs empty, too filled by all the hope swelling in his chest.

“Yes,” Draco replied breathlessly.

* * *

“Ah, look at you two!” Pansy squealed. “So cute!”

“Salazar, Pansy,” Draco groaned, pulling his down down further to hide his face. “Do you mind? We’re in public.”

“She’s just being supportive,” Hermione piped in, sipping at her coffee before grimacing and placing it down. She, like Draco, was more of a tea person, but Harry’s favorite coffeeshop only served just that—coffee.

“Just take it easy, yeah? We’re still new to this,” Harry said. And then, smiling at his boyfriend, “Did you get me my usual?”

Draco, now smirking, plopped down in the chair right next to Harry. “Nope.”

Harry stared at the cup, suspicious. “The same as last time?”

“Nope!”

“What is it?”

“A surprise.”

“Draco-”

“My word, Potter! Just drink it and stop being such a pussy-”

“Don’t be vulgar, darling,” Pansy admonished.

With a glower and shove towards his blond boyfriend, Harry did sip at his coffee.

And tried fruitlessly to hide his delight.

“Ha! What did I tell you?”

“To just drink it, and don’t be such a-”

“Wuss,” Draco cut in, fluttering his eyelashes at Pansy.

She smirked at him. “I thought so.”

“Look at you two,” Ron singsonged, “already finishing each other’s sentences.”

This time, both Draco and Harry groaned.

* * *

“Knock, knock,” Harry said gently as he opened the door.

“Who’s there?” Draco asked tiredly.

Harry smiled. “Just me.”

“Just me, who?”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“You’re wretched with jokes, Potter,” Draco drawled. “Good thing you have me. I’ve enough wit for the both of us.”

“Sure you do, pumpkin,” Harry replied dryly. “Almost ready to go? Ron packed up almost an hour ago.”

“Because he’s moving into Granger’s apartment today,” Draco groaned. “So I, of course, being the upstanding human being I am, offered to finish up for him. Little did I know, this  _ bastard  _ still has work from  _ yesterday _ -”

“Shh,” Harry said softly, walking behind Draco and messaging his shoulders. “I’ll help you finish up, yeah? Then we can go out for some Thai food.”

“You’re obsessed with take out, Potter.”

“Yes, but I’m also offering to get you home earlier.”

Draco fluttered his eyes at Harry flirtatiously. “Will I be going home alone, darling?”

Harry coughed, face red.

Draco laughed, waving him off. “I’m only teasing, of course. I know you’re not ready for that.” This normally may have made Draco self conscious, if not for a conversation they had a couple weeks ago about the fact that Harry was straight—Draco was an exception.

This was Harry’s way of simultaneously making no promises about their future, but keeping Draco enthralled, anyway, because Draco was Harry’s  _ exception _ , and how could he  _ not  _ feel  _ exceptional _ after learning that?

“Well then. Get comfortable, Pots. We’re going to be here for a while.”

Harry sighed, but kissed the top of Draco’s head—making the blond absolutely  _ glow _ —before settling down in Ron’s desk to get some work done.

* * *

Harry was staring at him.

They’d been officially ‘together’ for a month now. It mostly entailed a few pecks on the cheek here and there—lots of hand-holding, surprise hugs, and other platonic shit that still made Draco giddy with pleasure. That being said, while they kept things physically fluffy, their conversations weren’t solely casual. They did discuss things like lining up their vacations to go away together, or adopting a kneazle. Yes, while such things seemed lighthearted on the surface, they showed that neither Harry—or Draco—had any intention of leaving anytime soon. And with that kind of reassurance, neither boys held back on what they wanted to say.

This is why Draco was so perplexed by Harry’s silent staring.

Then, finally, “Draco.”

Draco nearly fainted with relief. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“Why don’t you call me Harry?”

Draco stiffened. Then relaxed. He might as well say it. He knew it had been bothering his partner (romantic partner, anyway) for a while, and after such patience, Harry deserved an honest answer. “It’s a... boundary, sort of.”

“A boundary,” Harry echoed.

Draco, deciding this deserved all of his attention, put down the paper he’d been reading to face Harry, who was perched on the couch opposite him. 

Harry came over often, and when they weren’t cuddling on said couch, Harry claimed it as his own by either physically lying on it, or ‘accidentally’ forgetting his reports and sweatshirts on it so no one  _ else  _ could lie on it.

“Yes, a boundary. You know I like you, Harry. I’m charmed by your mind, soul,  _ and  _ body. And I know you’re getting there as well, but until you realize how absolutely perfect I am in every way, shape, and form-”

“You aren’t?” Harry asked coyly.

Draco smiled at that, but continued. “While I wait for you to catch up, I still have... urges. You know. Guy stuff.” Draco hated the fact that he was getting pink in the face, but he couldn’t help it—talking to Harry as if his boyfriend were a prepubescent child who didn’t experience the same damn urges; even if they weren’t about Draco in particular. “And I don’t mean that in a woe-is-me way, or that I’m trying to rush you—just that, this is my little way of keeping my hands to myself.”

Harry frowned contemplatively. “You don’t have to hold yourself back, Draco. If you want to touch me or something, you can.”

Draco shook his head. “I know, Potter, and you’re honestly taking this gay-man thing very well-”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I don’t care about your sex, or your gender, or anything like that. I’m interested in  _ you _ , in your mind.”

“And my soul?” Draco asked.

“Sure.”

“Great,” Draco chirped. “Now we just need you to like my body as much as I like yours.”

Harry frowned again. “I do like-”

“It’s impossible you like me as much as I like you,” Draco dismissed at once. “After all, I’ve been crushing on you since fourth year.”

Harry gaped. “Since  _ school _ ?”

“Maybe third year,” Draco amended sheepishly. “I was a little shit—still am, honestly—but I was never immune to your charms, Potter. At first I thought I just wanted to be your friend, but my obsession with your attention— _ undivided _ attention, thank you very much—-was telling. I wanted, no,  _ needed  _ to be part of your life, of your day. I knew you hated me, but part of me liked that you were so passionate in even that. To take time out of your dramatic life to integrate me into your routine, into your history—Priceless. I was smitten, really. Still am, honestly.”

Harry was still gaping. “I can’t believe it. Since  _ school _ ?”

“Oh, you’re still on about that?”

“Wait, wait, wait, so how long have you had, you know,  _ those  _ thoughts about...  _ me _ ?”

Draco rolled his eyes, standing up and straightening his pants. “Since puberty? When else?”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly, displaying all his aborted attempts at making comprehensible words.

When Draco, shaking his head, stood to put his cup in the sink, Harry scrambled after him.

“Wait, so what  _ kind  _ of thoughts-”

“Sexual, obviously,” Draco said, growing a little irritated with all the mentioning of things he  _ couldn’t  _ do. He knew it was unintentional, but the teasing was unappreciated nonetheless.

“Okay, well what  _ kind  _ of sexual-”

Draco spun around to glare at him. “Why does it matter?”

Harry blinked, taken aback. “Why are you angry? I’m just... curious.”

“Well, you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” he quipped.

Harry shifted his feet nervously. “We could... fool around a bit now? If you wanted to, I mean.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, unreasonably stung. “If  _ I  _ wanted to?”

Knowing he’d said something wrong, Harry took a second to think back before sputtering, “And if I want to—obviously. And I do! Want to, I mean. If you want to, too.”

Draco couldn’t help barking out a sharp laugh.

Harry looked a little insulted. “What?”

“You’re not ready,” Draco said simply. Dismissively.

“What do you mean? I think I would know when I’m-”

“You’re not.”

“Stop treating me like a child-”

“Harry,” Draco snapped, and at hearing his first name, Harry visibly snapped to attention. “I’m not doing this as some kind of punishment, or whatever your slighted pride thinks I’m doing. I’m saying you’re not ready because I don’t feel you are. I’d be able to see it.” Knowing he still had Harry’s full attention, Draco continued more carefully. “And I don’t want to hurt you, or in any way make you uncomfortable by going too fast. Until I know for certain, I’m not going to threaten this.” He gestured between them. “You’re too important to me.”

Harry, obviously displeased, still nodded. When Draco leaned forward to peck his cheek, even with his mulish expression, Harry still accepted and reciprocated the action. Because beneath it all, he was a sweetheart.

“Want to go for a walk? The neighbors installed this  _ gorgeous  _ flower bed, and Merlin, you should see their garden.”

That brightened Harry right up.

* * *

Draco had thought that would be the end of it, but Harry was still very caught on Draco’s ban on ‘fooling around’.

So, naturally, he took it upon himself to make Draco remove it by tempting him.

“Staying late again?” Harry asked, peering in the doorway.

Draco nodded, not bothering to look up from his reports. “S’my fault this time, but I’ll be done soon. See you tomorrow?” Draco asked.

“Of course,” Harry said, then wandered over to Draco’s desk. “Goodbye kiss?” he asked.

Draco raised an eyebrow, curious why Harry was asking, and why he was standing behind Draco’s desk instead of simply leaning over it, like usual, but placed aside his unnecessary suspicion to nod. He leaned up, brushing their lips together briefly, but Harry pressed against his mouth firmly.

Surprised but not complaining, Draco kissed Harry a little more firmly in response, and then there were hands smoothing up and down his sides, and Draco was reaching up to cup the back of Harry’s head, angling it to his liking. He moaned when Harry’s tongue entered his mouth.

Harry pressed forward effortlessly, easily forcing Draco up and onto the desk as he leaned over the blond, sliding his fingers beneath Draco’s shirt to skirt up his sides.

Draco, shivering from the cold fingers, broke away to ask Harry just what he thought he was doing—Draco was still technically ‘working’—when Harry latched his mouth onto the sensitive skin at Draco’s neck. His mouth was hot, searing, and Draco instinctively arched up into him, mewling before he realized just what he was doing and, flushing hard, pushed Harry back gently.

“Potter?” he asked, voice husky and uncertain.

Harry smirked at him, wiggling his eyebrows. “Yes?”

So the randy twit thought he could play, did he? Draco would show him a good game, alright.

Of cat, and mouse.

“Go home,” Draco said, laughing it off. But inwardly, he was planning.

Harry was rushing things—obviously. But he wouldn’t back down if Draco asked, that would be too easy. Draco would have to make himself scarce for a while, just to teach Potter what his aggressiveness warranted.

And yes, normally Draco would become a wanton mess beneath Potter’s bluntness—his exception to the no-aggressiveness rule—, but Potter needed to learn his lesson.

Draco always knew best, and he knew Potter wasn’t ready.

* * *

He’d managed to avoid being alone with Harry for a few days, but it was once again Friday, and once again pub night, and Draco felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.

“Draco,” Pansy whispered loudly. She tugged at the neck of her shirt, fanning herself with her other hand. “Even I’m getting hot and bothered, and I’m not even the target.”

“I know,” Draco hissed at her, purposefully not looking in Harry’s direction so he wouldn’t realize they were discussing him. “He’s not ready though, he just wants to fool around because I said I was holding back for him—a prick move on my part, I know, but it just slipped out-”

“Draco, darling,” Pansy purred. “Those are the eyes of someone who  _ wants some _ , no matter the original intent. I’m surprised he hasn’t thrown you down on this table-”

“Maybe because I would break his hands?” Draco suggested sarcastically.

“Would you?” Pansy asked innocently. “I have it on good authority that Potter’s roughness gets you  _ real  _ hot below the belt-”

Someone cleared their throat, and both Slytherin looked up to see Hermione, Ron, and bloody Harry staring at them.

“You realize how loud you two are, yes?” Ron asked, cringing as he did so. “But she’s right, Draco. Harry, mate, your tension is rubbing off on me, and I ‘got some’ just this morning-”

“Ronald!” Hermione gasped while Draco and Pansy simultaneously admonished,

“Don’t be vulgar, darling.”

“Draco,” Harry cut in, disarming smile doing nothing but making Draco  _ more  _ uneasy. “Can I speak with you for a minute? Alone?”

“A-alone?” Draco asked, cursing the way his voice cracked. “Why not right here? With witnesses?”

“No one wants to witness that, Malfoy,” Ron assured, looking a little green.

Hermione coughed, peculiarly pink, while Pansy shamelessly showed interest at the idea.

“I wouldn’t mind a good show,” she said.

“Don’t be-” Ron began, only to have her cut him off.

“I can be vulgar all I want, dear. I’m the queen.”

“Draco,” Harry prompted, smile twitching spastically.

Draco, gulping, did follow Harry through the crowds, pass the bar, and out of the pub.

Draco instantly shivered at the cold. “Must we talk outside-”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Harry growled, whipping around to face him and grabbing Draco’s arm roughly before yanking him forward, his hot breath fanning Draco’s shocked face, “we won’t be outside, nor will we be talking.”

As he promised, as soon as Harry side-alonged them to his house, he was on Draco. He crowded the blond to the nearest wall before smashing their lips together hungrily.

Draco didn’t waste a second before wrapping his arms around Harry and those  _ broad shoulders _ , before pressing flush against his partner and groaning as Harry grabbed his hips and began to grind.

“Fuck,” Harry panted when they separated, but Draco didn’t allow him to stay away for long before he was kissing him again. “Fuck, Draco,” Harry gasped, gyrating harder as Draco grabbed his arse, trying to force them closer.

“We’re getting there,” Draco breathed, dazed, but not too out of it to see the way Harry looked at him.

And then Harry was plunging his tongue down Draco’s throat, pushing him forward, holding his hips and making Draco arch backwards like a bow, nearly bending in half as he snogged him.

Draco sucked harshly on his tongue, which earned him a squeeze of his arse, and when Draco wound his hands into Harry’s thick, dark hair and  _ pulled _ , he was rewarded with a deep moan and getting pulled up, himself.

Panicking due to the sudden loss of balance, Draco acted instinctively, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck and his legs following around the slim waist.

Draco wasn’t notable heavy, but he was tall, and flailing a little in embarrassed, flattered indignation. Even as strong as he was, harry was slightly shorter, which is why they twirled more than walked to the bedroom, grabbing and nipping and grinding the whole time before they fell on the bed in a tangle of limbs.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Draco panted when Harry pulled back to yank off his shirt. Draco shamelessly roved his eyes over Harry’s shoulders, his prectorials, his torso, and his scars. “Gorgeous,” Draco repeated breathlessly.

Harry, smiling widely, kissed him chastely before pulling back again. “Strip,” he commanded playfully.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I do believe spells require a wand,” he teased.

Harry, face turning serious, leaned in to hiss sharply in his ear, “I said,  _ strip _ .”

Draco had never undressed faster in his life, and judging by Harry’s visible delight, he was nothing less than pleased by his newfound power over his lover.

“Lube?” Draco asked.

“ _ Accio _ lube,” Harry commanded, not taking his darkening eyes from Draco’s newly revealed skin, even when the tube slapped into his hand.

“Can I-”

“If you want-  _ Ah, shit _ -”

“Feel nice?” Draco purred.

“ _ Mm _ ,  _ yes _ -”

“How about if I...” Draco trailed, off, using his fingers to-

“Fuck! Fuck, okay, stop, I won’t be able to-”

“Okay, okay, yes, do it,” Draco demanded, crawling to his hands and knees. At Harry’s hesitation, he looked over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I want to see your face when we fuck,” Harry said, and Draco wasn’t sure he’d ever heard anything hotter in his life. The way his prick  _ slapped  _ to his stomach said similarly.

Rolling onto his back, Draco didn’t even have time to ask, “Ready?” before Harry was sliding up to him, lining up, and pressing himself against Draco’s opening.

“Shit,” he panted, rubbing back and forth against Draco’s hole. “I—I’ve never done this with a guy before—How much preparation do you-”

“Harry,” Draco growled, instantly catching his partner’s attention. “If you don’t fuck into me  _ right now _ , I’ll show you good I am at avoiding people.”

Nodding quickly, Harry realigned himself and slowly, slowly pushed inside. He watched Draco’s face the whole time for any discomfort, and it was that kind of sweet sensitivity that made Draco weak in the knees, especially when Harry’s thighs were shaking from the effort not to  _ ram inside- _

“Just-” Draco panted, “just fuck it all into me!”

And just like that, Harry  _ whipped  _ his hips forward, ramming home on the first strike, and Draco screaming, raking his nails down Harry’s back.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Harry cursed, looking pained as he pistoned his hips.

And Draco took it all in greedily, hissing and cursing and nipping and scratching as he arched up, biting his lip to stop from being too loud.

“Fuck, Draco, I can’t-”

“Me neither,” Draco whimpered, “I’m close-”

“So close-”

“I can’t-”

“Call my name,” Harry growled, nipping at his neck.

And Draco did, and that pushed Harry over as well, and then they were a sweaty mess of tangled limbs once more.

Harry, pressing his sweaty forehead against Draco’s shoulder, laughed quietly.

“That was brilliant,” he said.

“I was, wasn’t I?” Draco teased, smirking arrogantly.

“You were.” In fact, he was looking at Draco like he’d just hung the moon.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Harry smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. “It feels like I just slayed a dragon.”

Draco barked out a startled laugh at that.

* * *

Harry and Pansy wouldn't stop smirking at him.

Draco, scowling back at the both of them, lifted his collar to hide the love bites. Sure, he could have simply disillusioned them, but he knew Harry got a kick out of seeing them. Draco didn't want to dissuade a repeat of last night, after all.

But after the third round of knowing eyebrow-waggles and sniggers, Draco had endured enough.

“Pots,” he said, looking down his nose at his boyfriend. And then, to Pansy, “Pans.”

And then he spun on his heel and let the coffee shop to the sound of Ron’s laughter.

“P-pots and pans!” the redhead cackled, immune to Pansy’s threats and Harry’s sheepish grumbles.

**The end.**

**Author's Note:**

> If know the fic I’m referencing when Draco called them Pots and Pans, kudos to you, bc that’s one of my favorite fics omg
> 
> And I’m sorry you had to endure all 33 pages of this utter trash—If you’re confused about the previous statement, feel free to visit (or revisit) the author’s note at the beginning of the fic.


End file.
